


Making It Better

by tealeaf523 (ConstantComment)



Series: Made For It [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hate Crime, Homophobia, Injury, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:13:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantComment/pseuds/tealeaf523
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terry tried not to think about the approach of the end of school. It meant a great many things, among them a long boring, boring, boring summer without magic as well as Anthony’s graduation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making It Better

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for a mentioned hate crime, homophobia in long-time friends, injury, general bad circumstances.

  
_~For Michael~_   


Terry tried not to think about the approach of the end of school. It meant a great many things, among them a long boring, boring, boring summer without magic as well as Anthony’s graduation.

It blew. And not in a good way.

They didn’t talk about it much—Anthony didn’t like to talk about himself, which included his feelings about Terry, so they _never_ discussed it. Terry, being the silly almost Gryffindorky half of the equation that was their relationship, never failed to tell Anthony how he felt, even though he tried (often in vain) to keep his emotions under check when they weren’t in the privacy of Anthony’s quarters.

The approach of spring break was just another reminder that Terry’s time with Anthony was coming to a close. They would have only a month after break to be together, and then Anthony would be apprenticing as an Arithmancer for Gringotts the next year. Anthony liked to talk about Arithmancy a lot, which was incredibly snore-worthy in Terry’s opinion, but he liked seeing that look in Anthony’s eyes instead of the wistful one he often saw these days. Terry didn’t want to push him. Even though he kind of did.

He just had a terrible feeling that Anthony’d forget about him—not forget him, but… but would find someone better when he left. It was stupid and irrational, but Terry, like many a fool in love, was still terrified.

“What are you frowning about?” Anthony asked from Terry’s left, reaching out a hand and ruffling Terry’s hair as they leaned over Terry’s Herbology text.

Terry smiled sheepishly. “You know I hate studying.”

“Which is why you’re going to sit there and study terms for your exam like I told you, right?”

“Oh, stuff it, Anthony. You sound like my mum.” The older boy looked temporarily horrified, and buried his nose in his Potions notes. “Not so keen on bossing me around now, are you?” Terry sniggered.

“Git,” Anthony muttered, but a grin spread across his face. “I could always threaten to take away your blow-job privileges if you don’t ace the exam. Does that sound like your mum?”

Terry gasped, quickly whapping Anthony over the head with _Magical Herbs and Fungi, Fifth Form_. Anthony barked out a laugh, causing a group of third-year Hufflepuffs to jump in their seats a few tables away. “I’ll take away _your_ blow-job privileges if you put my mum and sexual innuendo in another sentence!” he hissed. Really, he would. Mums and blowjobs in one sentence. Vomit.

Anthony rolled his eyes, leaning toward Terry until his breath ruffled the short hairs around Terry’s ear. “You like sucking me off too much to _really_ mean that,” he whispered.

Terry blushed, rubbing his ear on his shoulder. However, Anthony just dived in again and pressed his lips to Terry’s ear, smiling when Terry sucked in a breath. “I’m studying, Anthony.” _But, oh, don’t stop_ , his mind shouted.

The Head Boy chuckled, pressing another kiss where jaw and neck meet. Terry shivered all over, turning his face toward the caress of his boyfriend’s lips. Anthony nipped at his earlobe.

“People could see!” Terry breathed, regretting it immediately.

Anthony moved away quickly and picked up his quill, dipping it into their shared inkpot and focusing on his notes again.

Terry felt bereft.

\--

It was a week until break, and Terry strode up the corridor after Potions, humming a Muggle song as he remembered his and Anthony’s last venture into the wonders of boy-on-boy action. Anthony had beckoned him into the shower two days ago, after a particularly warm day of classes. Terry had seen his boyfriend entirely naked for the first time—Anthony’s face shining as he’d pulled Terry under the hot spray. He’d almost died of happiness, seriously.

They’d stripped clumsily, laughing, tripping over their school robes in their hurry. But Anthony seemed to be content just to kiss under the shower of the hot water, slipping his hands around Terry’s waist to splay against his bum, squeezing affectionately every now and then as Terry nipped at his lips. They’d taken turns washing each other’s hair, and back, and chest, and bum, and everything in between, before giving in to the need of their hungry pricks.

Terry’s eyes glazed over while he trudged up the staircases to the Entrance Hall and beyond into the bright, breezy outdoors where he planned to meet Anthony for more studying near the lake.

Anthony had pushed him up against the tiled wall of the Head Boy’s shower, plundering his mouth with fervour as Terry thrust against him, whimpering. Terry had come first, loud and wanton, before becoming limp and wobbly in his post-orgasmic haze. He’d moaned the same thing he could never keep himself from saying during these moments of high emotion, and hoped that when Anthony’s orgasm ripped out of him seconds later, splattering Terry’s stomach with pearly white fluid, that maybe those three words had more of an effect on Anthony than the boy was willing to admit.

“Hey there, daydreamer,” Anthony’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Terry grinned up at him. “’Lo, yourself.”

“How’re you?” he asked as they strolled over the green grass toward their favourite study spot.

“Professor Snape didn’t sneer at me today,” Terry joked.

“You must be on the right track then.”

“I’m sure of it. What about you? How was your day?” It was then that Terry saw the strain in his boyfriend’s smile.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, frowning out at the dark blue lake as they neared their study spot. “Just a couple absolute pricks giving me shite about stuff and things.”

“Stuff _and_ things? That’s the worst. I hate when pricks give me shite about stuff and things,” Terry said, nudging Anthony with his elbow. Anthony grimaced. “Don’t let ‘em get to you, Anthony. They’re probably just jealous, or something.”

Anthony looked on the cusp of jumping at him, wrapping him up in an embrace and kissing him. His hands were twitching at his sides, when a gaggle of girls walked past, calling out to the Head Boy, who snapped out of it and waved charmingly in their direction.

Terry rolled his eyes, irrationally despising those giggly fools for ruining that tiny possibility of a public display.

“Or something,” Anthony muttered, after a moment.

Terry sighed. “What’s wrong, Anthony?”

“Nothing, mate. I told you, these blokes just threatened me, is all. No one likes a threat, even if it’s an empty one.”

“They threatened you? Who?”

Anthony snorted, glanced over at Terry through his fringe of honey-blonde hair. “What? You gonna go beat them up for me? No offense, Terry, but you’re no boxer.”

Terry didn’t know what a boxer was, but he got the hint. “So you’re allowed to play ‘White-Knight’ for me, but I can’t feel protective of you?”

Anthony reached out for Terry’s arm, but Terry shrugged out of his grip, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Terr’…”

This was so ridiculously one-sided. Anthony got to be protective, but Terry was the only one who ever expressing his feelings, and Anthony was of course the only one who initiated contact because of that. God forbid Terry forget himself in public, or even _look_ at his ‘tutor’ in a way that was less-than-professional. After a moment, the other boy relaxed, probably thinking Terry had let it go, which only fuelled the fire that was burning like acid in his stomach.

“You know what? I’m gonna go,” he said.

“What? Why?” Anthony asked, face whipping around so fast that his neck cracked.

“I can’t be around you right now. I—”

Anthony reached toward him, tentatively. “Terr’, please, what’s got into you?”

“I’m sick of your crap. I need to cool off. See you later.”

Terry had gone twenty steps before Anthony said a word. “Terry,” he called out, a desperate tinge in his voice, “We’ve got to study.”

Terry nearly screeched. What was it with Anthony and _studying_? They couldn’t just talk, like normal people, like friends? Or was that not allowed, either? “I DON’T FUCKING WANT TO STUDY, YOU BERK!”

Terry stormed off, leaving Anthony to shuffle his feet in the grass, trying not to feel all the eyes on his back.

\--

Terry didn’t see him again until the following Saturday when the Hogwarts Express left for London. Terry was moping around, strolling down the corridor while everyone else hung out with friends in the compartments. He’d just made it to the loo when the wooden door slid open and a taller boy nearly knocked him over.

“Oh, sorry, mate!” the friendly voice said, and Terry knew without even looking who it was.

He shrugged. “It’s not a problem, Anthony.”

The seventh year looked down at Terry, eyes finally focusing, and a hint of a frown flitted across his face before his lips broke into a smile. “It’s you.” He looked down the hall before continuing. “Where’ve you been all my life?”

Terry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Cooling off,” he finally said.

“Didn’t realize you had such a temper,” Anthony joked, smirking gently.

“Yeah, well I’d had enough of you for the time being.”

Anthony furrowed his brow. “Listen, Terr’… I’m sorry for whatever I did that’s got you in such a twist. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s fine,” Terry said, looking away.

“Hey,” Anthony murmured, lifting a hand to cup Terry’s arm. “Please tell me.”

“I can’t.”

Anthony sighed exasperatedly. “Are you one of _those_ blokes?”

Terry grinded his teeth before saying levelly, “Wouldn’t want anyone in the hallway hearing, would we? They might see that you’re a huge pooft—”

Anthony dragged him into the loo and slammed the door, locking it and putting up privacy charms before sighing. “All right, I get it.”

“It’s not me who’s _one of those blokes_ , Anthony,” Terry gritted out. “I don’t give a shit anymore. I want to be able to—” His voice cracked. “See, this is why I can’t talk to you right now! I’ll start weeping like a fucking girl.” His eyes burned from trying to keep the tears at bay.

Anthony’s gulp was audible as he took Terry’s hand. “You know why we can’t just flaunt this—” He gestured between them. “—thing between us.”

“I don’t want to flaunt it! I just don’t want to have to hide! Pretend to be someone I’m not—pretend I’m alone.”

Anthony looked down at his shoes. “I understand. I do.”

“I don’t have any close friends, Anthony. It’s only you.”

Anthony dragged him into a clumsy hug, wrapping his arms tightly around Terry’s small shoulders and nuzzling his soft hair. Terry let out a shaky breath, allowing the tears to escape for the last time, letting them sink into Anthony’s brown pullover. There were few tears, this time, even though the pain was the same. He slipped his arms around Anthony’s waist and squeezed for a moment, before letting go and backing away.

“I’ll see you after break, yeah?”

Anthony looked a little stunned. “Yeah, definitely.”

Terry nodded and left.

\--

 _My Puny, Lip-Gloss Wearing Ravenclaw,_

 _Hope you’re having much more fun than I am in London! Days at the Goldstein house are cool at best (we have air-conditioning—that’s the Muggle equivalent of a domestic Cooling Charm that runs on electricity) and absolutely dull at worst. I’m taking care of ‘The Terrible Twins’, my four-year old cousins, while Aunt Rachael comes to stay. Other than that it’s rather uneventful. Although Dad’s got me working on his car when the women are out. Wish I could have you around whenever I can get away from the family. We’d have lots of fun in London._

 _That reminds me! My friends from home are taking me out to a club this weekend. I’ll tell you all about it when I next write._

 _.  
Anthony_

Terry stared for a long time at his letter three days into his holiday, wishing Anthony’d told him what was actually happening, instead of all this tripe about cousins and friends from home. Terry was having a hell of time getting used to sleeping in his old bed in Bath where his mum lived and worked as an Obliviator. He wondered how different it was to have to hide one’s magic, to pretend he was something he wasn’t—and then Terry realized, suddenly, that Anthony should be used to that by now. Keeping their relationship in the dark because he was so worried about his _image_. A guy can’t be perfect if he’s a poofter, right?

Terry hugged his shoulders, feeling ashamed for a moment—because surely Anthony had his reasons. He’d said he’d understood on the train. He looked back at the blot of ink above Anthony’s initials, hoping for a moment that the older boy had wanted to write something else. Maybe a ‘Miss you,’ or even a ‘Yours.’

The clench in his chest didn’t stop him from writing back, though:

 _Anthony,_

 _Thanks for writing! Sorry you have to play nanny for the rest of your hols—never get a break, do you?_

 _Bath has been nice and quiet, for the past few days, but it’s of course strange without your constant nagging to study. When I said you were like my mum, I didn’t realize you were worse! I’m joking of course. I’m such a good boy there’s no nagging necessary. I just hang around my room ~~wanking to thoughts of you~~ reading. Yesterday it was so sunny and warm, though, that mum and I ventured over to the Muggle pool! It’s a pity they don’t have a better way of avoiding cancer from those VU rays you told me about. Mum makes the best sun-potion._

 _Please tell me about your night out. What kind of club is it? ~~Is it a gay club?~~ Can you dance well? Maybe you can take me this summer or something. I’d really like that—I’ll be  sixteen then, so I’ll have none of that ‘You’re too young’ shite. I hope you have fun._

 _I miss you. More than you’d like to know, I’m sure. Maybe you could visit this week or next before we go back to Hogwarts? We wouldn’t have to hide—my mum works most days._

 _My house (not this Owlbox) is on the corner Vinewood Bend and Wulfric Street, but if you go to the Bath Apparition Point, you can use the Point Me spell to find our house. Think the word ‘Gleason’ (my mum’s maiden name) and you’ll be able to see under our Fidelius. Anyway… just think about it._

 _Love,  
Terry_

\--

Terry lounged in bed that Saturday night, thinking about—who else?—Anthony. He’d gone up to his room while his mum listened to her weekly Wizarding radio show. His mother hadn’t asked questions any further than ‘Do you need a potion for your headache?’, probably sensing that her son just wanted to be alone. She always knew the right thing to do and he loved her even more for that.

So a spring rain splished against the windowpane above his bookshelf that sported many pictures of he and his mother doing various things that families do—even without the presence of a father. He was particularly fond of the picture of he and his mum on a Cleansweep in the nearest Wizarding park. She’d been Ravenclaw Quidditch captain in her time, but apparently those genes hadn’t been passed down to Terry, who proceeded to fall on his arse in the next four seconds of the loop, laughing and blushing and sporting a bruised tailbone.

To the best of Terry’s knowledge, Anthony had never been very good with Quidditch, either. But he was good at everything else. Including faking his life away.

Terry sat up and rubbed his face roughly with his hands. He needed to top thinking about this. Anthony was trying to protect his name, of course. But Terry just couldn’t get past Anthony’s reluctance to be with him in a true relationship in order to protect that cherished reputation.

\--

Terry jumped from his bed to the spare twin in his room for at least half-an-hour before an urgent racket came from downstairs, scaring the pants of off Terry for a moment. His mum’s radio show continued to echo fuzzily through the house as if the quietude hadn’t been completely shattered. A spark of worry lanced through Terry and he took the stairs two at a time with his wand stretched out in front of him, only slowing once he’d seen that his mother was safe and curled up on the sofa in her study where he’d left her. Except now her hair was a bit mussed and she was snoring lightly.

Terry stood still in the hallway, waiting for another sound. It didn’t take long, for there was another loud banging, coming from the front door. Terry rushed forward, leaning on the door to peer through the peephole into the rainy night. Someone’s silhouette—a young man’s—was backlit by the lamp on the street corner, shivering. It took only a moment to figure out to whom the silhouette belonged.

In less than a second Terry was flicking on the hall lamp and swinging the door open with such force that he caught his foot on the door. Swearing at his throbbing toes, he opened the door fully to let the light from his entryway fall onto Anthony’s soaked form.

“Terr’.”

Terry just looked at him. Anthony was shivering all right, shoulders hunched as his hands cradled his elbows. He sported a nasty shiner and his shirt was mussed and his denims were ripped at the knees. He had a split lip, and when he walked forward to take Terry in his arms, his left leg protested with a noticeable limp. Terry grabbed him up in a tight embrace while trying to close the door on the rain.

“Terr’,” Anthony murmured, again.

“Mum!” Terry yelled, and slammed the door closed, reaching under Anthony’s shoulders to help him walk into the living room. He took Anthony’s hand as he lowered him onto the couch, feeling the scrapes against his palms. Anthony hissed loudly as Terry passed a thumb over the scratches, and Terry called for his mother again with a renewed urgency. He heard a stirring in the study just as Anthony hushed him, asking for him not to make a big deal out of things. “You’re hurt,” Terry choked out before rushing to the kitchen cupboard where they kept the first aid.

“What’s wrong, love?” Terry’s mum asked groggily, interrupting Terry’s inner monologue of _oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no_ , leaning on the doorjamb to the kitchen as Terry rummaged through the cupboard.

“It’s… it’s my friend, Anthony. He’s in the living room. He’s hurt.” Her eyes widened and she slipped her wand from her sleeve, concern replacing the tiredness Terry had just seen in her face.

“I’ll go see to him, then. Bring the first aid. Good boy.” Terry followed his mum into the living room, wishing she’d walk faster so he could stop Anthony from hurting. Anthony was curled up against the arm of the couch where Terry had left him, but straightened up with a wince as soon as he’d seen Terry’s mum, trying to stand. “Don’t get up, love. There’s no need,” Terry’s mother murmured, and sat on the couch next to Anthony. Terry stood, shifting from foot to foot restlessly. “Let’s get you cleaned up and healed before you tell us what happened, how about it?”

Anthony just smiled weakly, muttering, “Thank you, Ms. Boot.”

Terry watched, feeling unhelpful as his mum took Anthony’s jaw in her hand and healed up his bruise as best she could, noticing the twinge Anthony gave when she pressed her fingers to his chin. Terry knelt on the floor at Anthony’s feet, unlocking the first aid kit and retrieving the bruise paste for his boyfriend’s eye. He used the best cut-cleansing spell he knew on Anthony’s palms before applying a droplet of Dittany to each hand, squeezing Anthony’s wrists as the green smoke sealed the broken skin. Anthony took one of Terry’s hands with his as his mum asked where else he was hurt.

“My knee,” Anthony said more clearly this time, now without an injured jaw. “And my ribs. It’s hard to breathe.”

His mum uttered an oath before asking, “How many were there?”

Anthony was quiet for a moment. “Four.”

“Terry, get your father’s old sleeping robes out of the second drawer in my wardrobe. Poor Anthony will never fit in your clothes and he’s soaked to the skin in his Muggle attire.” She turned again to Anthony and said calmly, “I’ll need to see your ribs to heal them, is that alright?” Terry stood while Anthony struggled to get out of his black tee. When he was back with his father’s old pyjamas, Anthony was sitting ramrod straight with his t-shirt around his neck, eyes squeezed shut as Terry’s mum murmured in Greek. There was a crack, which caused tears to leak from Anthony’s closed lids, and then his face relaxed. He took a deep breath and opened them, immediately focussing on Terry. He smiled wanly.

“That’s as good as it’ll get, love. You might be a little sore, for a day or two,” she said, patting his shoulder, and then looked up at Terry.

“Here,” said Terry, handing Anthony the pyjama top. Anthony slipped the tee over his head and tossed it to Terry.

“Now, your knee, love,” Terry’s mother said gently. “Which leg?”

“This one,” Anthony said, gesturing at the bloodier knee. “Shall I take off my jeans? That’ll make it easier, right?”

“It would,” his mum said.

Terry blushed, but helped his boyfriend while he stood and unbuttoned his denims. He slipped them down carefully, inhaling sharply as the bloodied fabric that had dried against his skin ripped away again. Anthony swore, but apologized immediately afterward.

Terry’s mother chuckled lightly. “No need to worry, love. I have to say this situation calls for a good amount of profanity.”

Terry snickered as Anthony smiled sheepishly. However, his mum made quick work of the nasty bruises on Anthony’s knee and ordered Terry to give him the pyjama bottoms before Anthony fainted from embarrassment. “Thank you,” Anthony said, over and over as Terry’s mother stood and patted him on the head.

“I’ll make some tea,” she said kindly, and left for the kitchen.

Terry slumped onto the couch next to Anthony, abandoning all pretence and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend as he tried awkwardly to shimmy into the loose flannel pyjamas. “What happened?” he whispered.

“My… friends. I came out to them. I hoped they’d understand. Or at least—I don’t know what I was thinking, honestly.”

“Oh, Anthony.”

“We were at that club, and they asked how crazy boarding school was. Who I was into… Who I was shagging… I told them I was seeing someone, and they asked all about you. I told them you were amazing. Sweet and fucking sexy when you wanted to be.” Terry flushed red to the tips of his toes, or so it seemed. “But they got caught up on your name. There aren’t many girls called Terry. And I told them you weren’t one of those girls, anyway.”

Terry untangled himself from Anthony and rested his elbows on his knees, sighing heavily. “God, Anthony, when I said I didn’t want to hide anymore, I didn’t mean I wanted you to endanger yourself.”

“I wanted to tell them, Terry. I’ve known them since I was, like… dunno, six or something? I didn’t know what to expect. I haven’t seen them enough in the past couple of years to know how they feel about—”

His mother stepped into the room just then, cutting their conversation short. Placing the tea tray on the coffee table in front of them, she poured three cups of tea.

“Thanks, Mum,” Terry said.

“I’m sorry, Anthony, but I didn’t know how you take it.”

“I take mine with a splash of milk and two sugars, thank you, ma’am,” Anthony said, reaching for a cup. Terry scoffed.

“With a splash of milk, you say,” Terry muttered, nudging Anthony with his elbow.

“And how d’you take yours, you great prat?” Anthony asked, dropping two sugar cubes into his cup.

“Black, thanks.” Terry watched Anthony drink his tea down quicker than lightning, his hair still wet from the rain.

“Oh, dear. I’d forgotten you’re still all soggy.” Terry’s mother charmed Anthony’s hair dry, returning it to the nice gold waves that were so enchanting to Terry. She Summoned a blanket from the hall closet and quickly wrapped it around Anthony, who smiled at her in thanks.

\--

They never did talk about Anthony’s turning up on their doorstep. Terry could tell that his mum itched to know, but didn’t dare press. Terry looked at Anthony, seeing the haunted look in his eyes as he poured himself another cup and sipped, staring off into space. He just wanted to take him up to his room and cuddle, as pathetic as it sounded in his head.

“I don’t want to pry, Anthony, but do your parents know where you are?”

“They think I’m at my friend’s for the weekend—although, a different friend’s. Circumstances have changed, obviously,” he said quietly. “My parents have not met Terry yet, but I’ll write them tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll be fine with it.” He smiled at Terry.

“Well, that’s good, then,” she said, although Terry was sure she understood more than what Anthony had admitted to. “You are free to stay with us, tonight, Anthony, if here is where you feel safest at the moment. I’ll have to put bedding on Terry’s spare bed,” she said to herself, standing. “But don’t feel like you are imposing.”

\--

Anthony thanked Terry’s mother profusely before she wished them a pleasant rest and shut the door to his room. Immediately, Anthony approached him and hugged him tight, nuzzling into the crook of Terry’s neck.

“Terry,” he said, voice gravelly. Anthony took a big gasping breath, and before Terry had fully realized, was crying into his shoulder, shaking uncontrollably. Terry stood on his tiptoes and hugged Anthony back, wishing things hadn’t happened this way. He could feel Anthony’s tears soaking his t-shirt and as he wove his fingers in Anthony’s hair, Terry’s heart broke.

“C’mon, let’s get you in bed,” Terry whispered. He slipped his hand into Anthony’s and pulled him toward Terry’s bed.

“This is your bed,” Anthony said, dumbly, wiping at his nose with his sleeve.

“Yep, and yours, too. For the night,” Terry answered.

“But, your mother…”

“She’ll not wake us. She leaves before six each morning.”

“But, I don’t want to screw anything else up…”

Terry had to dig his fingernails into his thighs to keep from leaping on his boyfriend—no need to break his ribs again. When he seemed to have control of himself, he said, “You don’t have to be alone, Anthony.” Anthony sat heavily on Terry’s bed, and Terry quickly sat next to him. “What happened to you?” Terry asked. Anthony turned to Terry and just looked at him, raised a hand to card his fingers through Terry’s hair, then dropped his hand to his lap.

“It seemed like they didn’t care, at first. There was just a bit more alcohol passed around after that, and soon enough everyone was shitfaced. I admit I had too much as well. But I have a wand, so there’s less to worry about… But…”

Terry nodded.

“But when we left, Eric decided to clarify whether or not I was taking the piss out of him. ‘So, you’re a fag,’ he said. I shoved him. And then they shoved me into an alley and took turns beating me to a pulp.”

Terry’s chest clenched. He took Anthony’s hand again.

“By pure luck I managed to Apparate here,” Anthony laughed. “Perhaps I splinched a toenail or something. I couldn’t go home like this, though. And anyway, all I wanted was to see you.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Terry said, leaning in to kiss Anthony on the cheek. He lingered at Anthony’s jaw, feeling the scratchy stubble against his lips.

“I love you.”

Terry sucked in a breath, biting his lip. “Really?”

Anthony huffed out a breath, smiling. “I love you,” he said, turning to Terry.

“I love—” Terry started, but Anthony captured his lips before he could finish.

“Stop that,” Anthony breathed against Terry’s lips. “I have to catch up first, alright?”

“I’m afraid you’ll be behind forever, counting how many time’s you’ve brought me off, you tosser.” Terry smiled, kissing Anthony again.

“I love you so much. God, and I love _saying_ that.”

“I know, right?” Terry said through a smile.

“I am. Tuckered. Out.” Anthony flopped back onto the pillows, wincing a bit as his back connected with the springy bed.

“I bet,” Terry murmured, slid down next to Anthony, and pulled the covers over them. Anthony snuggled in toward him, and Terry welcomed the warmth, snickering as Anthony wiggled a thigh between his. They both sighed, contentedly.

They were silent for several moments before Anthony said, “I’m so sorry I never told you before. I know I’ve thought it, billions of times.”

Terry looked at Anthony, studied his face—his blue-green eyes, his full lips, his straight nose, his furrowed brow. Terry smoothed the frown away with a thumb. “I forgive you,” he said. They kissed again, and as Anthony drifted into a deep sleep, Terry whispered, “Nox.”


End file.
